


Fallen

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, idk what to tag this, no cage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24412534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael wakes up one day in a forest. The last thing he remembers is falling into Hell. And now he's here, human, powerless, with something pulling him to Atlanta, Georgia.
Relationships: Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Waking

It was silent.

Things had been _quiet_ for a while now, but there had always been a constant hum. He remembered wars, countries that had since been dissolved or reformed or broken up sending soldiers against each other, and the soldiers would shout up their prayers to him. In what they called the First World War it was a steady hum, like a bee in his ears.

The prayers of the Second World War nearly destroyed him. He rarely took sides in human conflicts. The politics of humans didn’t interest him. But hearing the begs and cries and hushed, whispered prayers, he intervened when he could. A rare act of mercy from an officer here. A bullet that refused to leave the chamber there. It wasn’t enough. It never would be.

The prayers dwindled away, and he couldn’t blame them, even as wars kept rolling on. Catholics stopped saying his prayer at the end of mass. People stopped muttering up a plea when they needed courage. He watched with grim satisfaction while other angels muttered about the faithlessness. The humans were finally catching on. If he couldn’t save his own brother, how would be able to save them? And then the demanding, assertive ‘prayers’, if they could even be called that, of Dean Winchester. Asking him to save _his_ brother.

But it was silent. Completely silent. He had woken in a forest – God only knew why, literally – and it was the first thing he noticed. That, and how _small_ he felt. He didn’t like being in a vessel. It made him feel like he was going to tear it open and take the world with it, power brimming out of his skin.

He didn’t feel like that now.

Walking was awful. His feet felt hot and wet and _burned_ after a while. He got strange looks from people when he eventually reached what looked like a town. Someone tapped his back, and he turned warily, expecting some form of violence. The stranger handed him a fifty-dollar bill instead, saying he’d dropped it. He knew that wasn’t true, but he took it, and moved on.

He let himself be led by some intuition to a bus station. Looking at the numbers and letters, seemingly randomly placed on a flickering orange board, made him nauseous. The help desk didn’t live up to its name, either.

“ _These_ are the times,” the man at the counter was saying slowly, as though he was stupid, tapping a column with four numbers on each row. “ _These_ are the platform numbers.” He tapped another. “ _These_ are the cities. _These_ are the states.”

“I- I know,” Michael lied. He placed his hand above the city column nervously, and it shook as he tried to feel if one of the cities was speaking to him. There was _something_ there, but he couldn’t tell what. “I just – I don’t know how to read the cities.” The man looked disgusted, and he rushed to clarify. “I mean, I was never taught the – never taught the abbreviations. Would you be able…?”

The man sighed irritably and started down the list. Michael was grateful that everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. The man had plenty of time.

“ABQ. NM. That’s Albuquerque, New Mexico. You with me?”

Michael nodded quickly, concentrating intensely as the man read down the list. It took a while – a long while – and the man was getting more annoyed by the second, he could feel it, but one of the words made a spark in his chest.

“Could you say that again please?”

The man actually rolled his eyes.

“ATL. GA. That’s Atlanta, Georgia.”

“There,” Michael said, relieved. “One ticket, please.”

The man pointed across the station. “Tickets are over there.”

He bought his ticket and after a few hours of waiting, in which he sat uncomfortably with his hunger, buried deep in his stomach, he was on a hot rickety bus. He leaned his head against the rattling window and closed his eyes, trying to block out the heavy breathing of the person next to him.

His last memory before waking in the forest was Sam Winchester, arms outstretched, tugging him into Hell. Adam’s hands, crushed into his jacket. Lucifer silently screaming as his vessel doomed them all, beating against the walls of Sam’s mind as Sam willingly fell into the place Lucifer hated the most.

But what was in Atlanta, exactly? He didn’t have grace. He could feel that much.

It was dark by the time they arrived. He stumbled off the bus, thanking the driver in a mutter, stomach so empty it physically hurt. He stumbled along through clean streets, bright under the streetlamps and headlights. Then the streets got darker, and a little dirtier, and then a lot dirtier. Curiously, people stopped looking so unfriendly. In the clean, bright streets his dishevelled appearance was greeted with mistrust. No one seemed to care here.

He walked up to a house in a street littered with broken glass. Laying a palm on the door, he felt that same spark in his chest.

The door was open. That was good. That was a sign he was meant to be here, surely, instead of breaking into someone’s house.

It made sense once he saw him. Lucifer was standing in the living room. It looked like that nearly-vessel of his, Nick, but he could feel it was Lucifer even if he couldn’t feel his grace, radiating out like a cool breeze. The door had been torn off his hinges. He was gripping the dining table so hard it looked like he was trying to rip out chunks of that, too.

“You have no grace then, either?” Michael called over. He saw his jaw moving, setting tightly.

“Oh good,” came the words, ice cold. “You’re here.”

Lucifer didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. Michael couldn’t help himself from crossing over, staring at Nick’s face in wonder. There was nothing to indicate it was Lucifer. Nick’s skin wasn’t falling off. He didn’t have that glow about him that angels did when they crammed themselves into a vessel.

Lucifer’s eyes flew open and fixed on his, furious. He sneered.

“Looks like dad didn’t want to give you your proper vessel, either.” He tugged, not gently, at the short black hair on Michael’s head. “Least he let you get John when he’s young.”

“Dad this?” Michael asked, wondering what Lucifer knew that he didn’t. Lucifer just rolled his eyes before closing him again.

“Who else could give us such perfect torture?”

His head was bent, his body tense. If Michael didn’t know that Lucifer hadn’t prayed in several millennia, he would have guessed that that was what he was doing.

“Is this Hell?” he asked in a whisper. He expected the ground to swallow them up when he said that, for the bars of the Cage to replace the current dingy surroundings.

Lucifer gave a laugh that sounded like it hurt to give. “It sure is, Michael.”

He swallowed uncertainly, moving around his brother. Lucifer didn’t protest or shove him off as his legs pressed against the back of his. He laid the palms of his hands on his lower back, either side of his spine, where the base of his wings would be if they still had them. Lucifer made a sound that sounded like a sob, and Michael continued pressing, humming an old battle song as best as he could with a human throat.


	2. Interlude

_His eyes slipped closed as he heard the familiar sounds. The clinking of silver-brushed armor, the slight rustle as a heavy, gold-threaded cloak trailed across the marbled floor. He heard the wind sweeping as wings beat, and finally, feet lightly touch the floor._

_“Where were you?”_

_The words sounded like an accusation. He opened his eyes, steeling himself before turning to face his brother. There was a slight frown creasing his face. It scared him. Normally, dressed in full uniform as he was, Michael kept his face perfectly impassive._

_“I didn’t want to go.”_

_The frown deepened. He shuddered slightly._

_“You didn’t want to lead the dawn chorus?” Michael asked, stepping closer. “But you do it every morning. It didn’t sound the same without you.”_

_He tried for a smirk. “Did they sound so different without me? Tell me, am I actually the best singer? Or does He just fan my pride?”_

_He leaned forward to push on Michael’s shoulder slightly, jokingly. He didn’t move, didn’t react._

_“You know you’re the best.” They stood in silence for a few moments more. He could feel Michael’s eyes on him, weighty, serious. “Luce…”_

_“Micha,” came his calm reply. He knew what was coming._

_“Someone… someone said they saw you near Earth. When that human was corrupted.”_

_He raised an eyebrow, laughing lightly. “Is that a crime?”_

_“To corrupt a human?”_

_“To be near Earth,” he corrected hotly. “That’s all the accusation is, isn’t it?”_

_Michael looked away. With the change of light, he could see a film of sweat across his otherwise perfect face._

_“There’s more,” he whispered, and Lucifer’s heart sank to the bottom of his shoes. He moved his wings, automatically shifting into flight mode. He wanted to fly away from his crime. From his guilt. Away from his perfect brother and the disappointment he was trying so desperately to hide._

_“What- what m-”_

_“I’m not allowed to say.” Michael took his hands into his, concern bleeding from his face. “But Lucifer. Luce,” he repeated, squeezing his fingers lightly so Lucifer would look at him. “Just tell me why.”_

_His lip began to tremble. It didn’t matter how many galaxies he’d seen – how many battles he’d flown in, how many more battles he had sent his brother off to with a night beneath the stars. When Michael brought his disappointment and worry to him, he felt for all the world like a fledgling again._

_“Micha,” he whispered, voice cracking. Michael’s arms and wings were around him quickly, sheltering him while he gasped into his neck. He clenched the rich fabric in his fists._

_“Just tell me why,” Michael repeated in a whisper, and he held him tighter. Lucifer shook his head slowly, thoughts racing to quickly for him to keep up. Eventually he swallowed and whispered the truth._

_“I don’t know.”_

_Michael released him, searching in his eyes. Lucifer just shook slightly, hoping Michael would see that he was telling the truth. That he didn’t know why he’d been drawn to the humans he’d rather avoid – what had tempted him to take and twist her soul until she was unrecognisable. He’d found a certain amount of cruel joy in it, certainly, but he hadn’t felt it before or since._

_“Luce,” Michael whispered. “I can’t protect you from everything.”_

_“Protect me from this,” he pleaded in a whisper. When Michael didn’t react, he leaned forward and touched their lips together, his desperation and fear and need to be comforted pouring into the kiss. Michael hesitated before reaching for his hips, and Lucifer took a few steps back until he was against the marble column. Michael pulled away, breathless, and pressed his lips to Lucifer’s forehead chastely._

_“I’ll try, Luce,” he murmured. “I’ll try. That’s all I can do.”_

_He could taste blood in his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the panic rising, and reached up to kiss him again._

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is very (very) welcome!


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